


Changing of the Guard

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Series: War Dogs [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Gretel the Howling Commandog, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Military Animals, Sadness, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 15:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: Picking up Gretel’s leash, he tried to pull her toward the jeep, but she stood fixed, staring at the plane when Bucky didn't materialize.





	Changing of the Guard

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something for Steve's 101st birthday, but writing has been a struggle and felt so pointless lately, and this has been rattling around in my head since before I wrote the last War Dogs fic a couple years ago. I kept putting it off because...well, CATFA is a tragedy, when you get right down to it. Sadness isn't a great way to say "happy birthday," I know, and while this doesn't have any character losses that aren't canonical and no real animal harm, it's definitely the saddest story I have done in this fandom.

Much of central England was socked in by fog, so they flew into one of the 8th’s air bases just outside of northwest London this time, instead of their usual airfield. It was for the best, Steve thought, because they had facilities to hold the prisoner in and it would offer him enough time on the drive that he could try to pull himself together before they hit HQ. 

Pull himself together. As if that could happen. 

Peggy was waiting for them, standing next to the jeep and just in front of Colonel Phillips, holding Gretel’s lead. The current from the propellers lifted her hair away from her face and he could see her square her shoulders, trying to inject some business-as-usual attitude into herself. The colonel simply looked old and broken down, and didn’t try to hide it; he was enormously fond of Bucky—something about Bucky having had the temerity to throw down on him over a dog had broken through his hard crust, and he let Bucky get away with murder.

Gretel was wiggling her rear end, trying not to rush forward and jump on Steve or any of the boys; her tail thumped the tarmac in anticipation, but Peggy held tight, and Gretel was too well trained to break away. Some of the boys—Dum Dum and Gabe, who’d been closest to Bucky—were dragging Zola off the plane and frogmarching him away; Steve couldn’t bear to watch, his eyes and throat hot, stinging. Jim said quietly behind him, “Let us take care of it, Cap,” and he’d get no argument from Steve. 

Colonel Phillips pulled away to follow them, see to the red tape, and that was good. Otherwise, if Steve got near Zola again, he’d break his neck.

With a couple quick yanks on the leash, Peggy moved off, Gretel keeping a good heel by her side, until they reached him and she let go. Gretel bounded the last few feet to Steve and leapt at him, slobbering wet, excited kisses all over his face as he knelt down to throw his arms around her, grasping and digging his fingers into her fur. As he buried his face in her neck and tried to contain the wiggling, she made a keening sound, and he thought his heart had already been broken enough but that shattered it into a million little shards. She’d missed them so much these past few weeks, hated it when she couldn’t come on missions with them, and she didn’t know. 

“Hey there, baby girl, hey. Oh, it’s so good to see you.” If he kept this up, he’d cry again, and there was no time for it. “I missed you so much.”

When he stood, Peggy took his hand, squeezed it, and the commander of the air group, who’d been talking to their pilot, came over and introduced himself. “Captain Rogers, my sincere condolences on—” and he stopped abruptly at a gesture Peggy was making, Steve could just see her motion out of the corner of his eye, but not exactly what she’d done. “Please, if you need anything, we’re eager to help.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, and shook hands with the commander and their pilot. Picking up Gretel’s leash, he tried to pull her toward the jeep, but she stood fixed, staring at the plane. When Bucky didn’t materialize, she did her little foot-stamping thing, like some miniature charging bull, her ears forward. She didn’t even look at Steve, only stared intently at the plane, immobile and determined to wait for Bucky.

“Should I take her?” Peggy asked gently.

His jaw ached from clenching it so hard the past few hours; by the time they’d reached the Channel it had begun to settle into his bones like a cancer: Bucky was dead and he wasn’t coming back with them. They were almost home, but this wasn’t home for Steve, not anymore. Never could be again. He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know how to make her understand,” and his throat caught on the last word, his voice cracked. Gretel looked up at him then, resuming that high-pitched whine. 

He motioned for Peggy to give him a minute and he took Gretel toward the plane, letting her sniff at the ladder. When that didn’t placate her, he lifted her into the bay and clambered in after her; she couldn’t catch any of Bucky’s scent and only grew more distressed, turning in circles, round and round. Eventually, Steve took her out and they went slowly over to the jeep; she looked at him in confusion before jumping in reluctantly as he and Peggy met each other’s eyes.

Peggy drove toward the outbuilding where Phillips had gone and Steve sat in the back with Gretel nearly on his lap; her little dog eyebrows were moving a mile a minute in her distress. All he could do was pet her and reflexively squish his fingers in her fur, the sensation of it calming him a little. 

They rode wordlessly back to headquarters, where Steve debriefed with the general staff, Gretel staring at the door to the offices the entire time, waiting for it to open at Bucky’s hand. They offered him the chance to interrogate Zola but Steve declined, citing his need to write up his report before he forgot things. 

But he couldn’t do anything except stare at the typewriter, not with Gretel also staring, waiting for Bucky, whining quietly. Steve was forced to hand her off to Jim so he could get at least a few words on paper. Zola, as much as Steve despised him, as much as he wanted him dead, was far too important of a prisoner; he might be one of the most important to land in Allied Command’s lap and every detail of this operation and capture would be vital to sweating him. When Steve had finished, he found Jim holed up in a supply closet with their gear and Gretel, taking inventory and pretending he wasn’t crying. “She hasn’t stopped whining,” Jim said. “Kind of can’t blame her.”

He’d changed into his service uniform for the debriefing, but he set his hat on the desk and left his coat on the hook and took Gretel out for a walk. They hadn’t gone a few streets down the way when an air-raid warning sounded and he realized he couldn’t make it back fast enough to protect her, even if he picked her up and ran at his top speed. He hoped maybe they’d be lucky enough that the bombers would be shot down before any damage happened, so he made it a few more streets and ducked into their usual pub, where it appeared everyone had already evacuated. Within seconds the first strike came down, barely a mile away, and then with devastating force one landed nearby. 

The sky lit red all around them, plaster dust sifted down into his hair and Gretel’s fur, chunks of ceiling and wall tore loose, and wood turned into shrapnel. But he held her as tight as he could, huddled in the safest corner but by no means safe. If she hadn’t been with him, he might have stayed in the street, might have run straight for the targets, but he couldn’t just leave Gretel here and hope someone would find her, so he stayed, crooning to her and soothing her cries. 

It was over quickly, as they always were these days. Even before the all-clear, the civilian defenses were out, he heard shouts, ambulance bells. Steve was furious with himself for putting Gretel in harm’s way and cursed his stupidity and selfishness; Gretel seemed to sense his self-excoriation and timidly licked his hand, a dog’s forgiveness being instantaneous and complete and pure. So then he cursed himself some more for putting Bucky in harm’s way and getting him killed. 

“He’s not coming back, girl. I’m sorry, but he’s never coming back. It’s all my fault, and I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her fur.

When the two of them were done shaking in the darkness, Steve got up, dusting first her off and then himself. He pulled up one of the surviving chairs to a debris-covered table and dug around behind the bar for something to drink; the whiskey and gin were demolished but there was some wine that had survived, so he took a couple bottles and a chipped glass to sit down and get drunk. Going back to their quarters was out of the question, Steve couldn’t bear the thought of looking at Bucky’s empty cot; Gretel would stare at the door all night, waiting for him to return, starting at every sound and whining when no one appeared, and honestly, so would Steve. 

Gretel lay down at his feet, watching the blown-open doorway and wall, as if somehow this disaster would allow Bucky to find them at last and come to their rescue, just as he had before. She was such a good dog, a reflection of the man who’d first found her and seen her promise. How long would she continue to wait for him with those sad eyes and that heartbreaking whine? He wiped tears off his wet cheeks and Gretel sat up, putting her head on his leg, and they remained there in the cold darkness till Peggy came to find him.

***

Colonel Phillips’s driver was waiting for them at the airfield with Gretel in the passenger seat, and Peggy stopped abruptly, letting out a small gasp. It hadn’t occurred to her the dog would be brought along, and the lump in her throat threatened to choke her. _It’s just like last time. Dear lord._

Morita appeared at her side and said kindly, “I can take care of her for you. She’ll usually listen to me.”

It was difficult finding words; all these past hours, they’d been hiding from her, as though she’d taken a blow to the head and lost her language. They’d sat silent in the plane the whole way back, this little tribe of people united by Steve Rogers, and she looked at Morita, past him to the rest of the men, and had to fight to keep her legs under her. The dog was part of this tribe, as much as any of them.

She shook her head. “No, I...” and Morita nodded, not needing an explanation, closing his hand over her shoulder. They were all like this, numb and shaken. Not even mourning yet, because there hadn’t been time. 

Lieutenant Allen must have heard the news already, because she greeted Peggy gently and held the door open for her. “I’ll see to the colonel,” she said, as Gretel leapt out straight into Peggy. It knocked the wind out of Peggy but she didn’t much care; it almost felt good, the shock of it, something to break the icy grip of misery. She knelt and put her arms around Gretel’s neck, just as Steve had done when he’d come back without Bucky, and the tears she’d been keeping back finally coursed down her cheeks to her chin and then on to the dog’s fur.

Oh, this was terrible, the poor thing had lost both her people now. They’d all lost both of them, the captain and the sergeant, and what were they to do? She stood up weakly, wiping her face and straightening her jacket, picking up the dog’s lead. When the colonel had seen to the post-flight nonsense, he and Allen made their way back to the jeep and the rest of the squad headed for the truck. 

The colonel looked so tired, Peggy realized, watching him climb into the jeep. She was looking at him now with different eyes, and recognizing what he’d lost. _They’d lost._

“Up, up, dear girl. Come on, now,” Peggy said to Gretel, but she continued to stare anxiously at the airplane, stubbornly refusing to move. Peggy had never thought of herself as a dog-lover, they’d always kept cats and moggies were more to her taste, but like everyone else, she’d fallen in love with Barnes’s war dog. Steve would...well, Steve would want her to take Gretel, wouldn’t he? Or should that fall to one of his men? She leaned down to tap Gretel on the head, redirecting her to the jeep, and Colonel Phillips gave a sharp whistle, so with one last whine and glance at the plane, the dog hopped up gracefully. The colonel pulled Gretel into his lap as her front paws settled between him and Peggy, tail beating against the door.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Colonel Phillips said in that fatherly way that always made her a bit nervous; she was far more accustomed to his brisk efficiency and dry sarcasm; she’d almost rather the grumpy scorn than this concern. Peggy caught Lieutenant Allen’s eyes watching them in the mirror, and they shared an understanding glance.

“Really?” Peggy responded, weary into her bones, the grief weighing her shoulders down painfully. “Do tell.”

His brow arced upwards, his fingers methodically pushing in and out of the fur at the dog’s shoulders, and Peggy, to hide the fact that tears threatened once again, inclined her head to concentrate on stroking Gretel’s worried brow. It must have been awful for the creature, to know something was so terribly wrong yet not understand what it was. Two of her tribe were gone but she couldn’t know where.

“There’s no way we could have planned for that kind of contingency. No _intelligence_ could have predicted what would happen.” It was unspoken that it had been Steve’s choice and no one else’s failure, but she knew he believed it his every bit as much as she believed it hers.

Of course he was correct, no one could have known Steve would join Barnes in Missing in Action status, most probably killed. Yet she knew how inconsolable Steve had been, the cold fury she’d never seen in him before, the lack of concern for his own well-being. She alone knew what Steve and Barnes were to one another. She’d thought more than once that if it hadn’t been for Gretel, Steve might well have not come back with them at all from that first mission, rather stayed in Austria to find Barnes’s remains at any cost and take on Schmidt entirely by himself. 

He’d believed Peggy when she’d said that he wouldn’t be alone in wiping Hydra off the map, at least on a superficial level, but she thought Steve hadn’t believed they felt as deeply about it as he had. Peggy made a noncommittal noise to the colonel, because she was facing the same issue now herself—the colonel was right, but he didn’t truly understand.

Phillips stared at the passing scenery and shook his head. “Kid spent his whole life fighting not to die. Spent his whole life _fighting_ , really, against everything that tried to beat him down, including me. He’s not down for the count.”

Peggy put her hand over his where it lay on Gretel’s back. There was much to do when they returned: there would be reporters waiting and she’d have to help the colonel craft something to say; she should write to some of Steve’s closer friends in the USO and Hollywood so they had something more personal than the news; the Barnes family would still be reeling over his loss and she should write...no, she had to ring them, Steve was another son to them and they couldn’t find out through the press. Colonel Phillips had telephoned them just days ago, Peggy would spare him a second such experience.

Too, they’d have to go through Steve’s footlocker and the cupboards in his quarters. Not everything would have to be sent to the Barneses just yet; it was still possible Howard could...perhaps Howard could find him and the serum would keep him alive till—

“Have we heard from Stark already?” Peggy asked. The dog sensed some sort of change in her energy because she sat up, an expectant look in her expressive little eyes. Oh, it would shatter Peggy’s heart every time.

“Settle down,” Colonel Phillips said, petting Gretel, but Peggy thought wryly that perhaps he also meant that for her. With a sigh, he added, “I’ll have to fight with every goddamn general above me to let Stark go, but he’s already coordinating a search. Not everyone’s got a ship that can handle the North Atlantic this time of year.”

Good. That was good. Peggy nodded to herself. Bless Howard for how much he loved Steve. They rode the rest of the way in silence, her head roiling with the possibilities and probabilities. When they pulled up at headquarters, Gretel hopped out of the vehicle as Allen came round to open the colonel’s door. Peggy smoothed first her hair, then her trousers, and asked, taking Gretel’s leash, “Should she stay with me, or would you...”

He’d grown so fond of the dog in his curmudgeonly way; Steve and Barnes had frequently laughed over “what a softie” he’d turned out to be; everyone knew that if they couldn’t find the dog with the squad out in the field, they’d find her in the colonel’s tent. But she knew Phillips, knew that only some of it was the dog herself: who he’d grown soft over were two heroic young men he’d begun to think of as sons.

The question left him stricken; after a few seconds trying to compose himself, he said, “I’ll be up to my elbows in brass for the foreseeable future, she might fare better with you for now. You and the captain’s men.”

 _Yes,_ Peggy thought, _we can share care of her, our little tribe._ Perhaps in time they’d find a unit that could use a military dog and give her a regular handler to focus her attentions on. She wouldn’t stop waiting for her masters to come home, and idleness would only make things worse. Steve and Barnes would want the best for Gretel, always the best.

But that would come later. “Sweetheart, come with me,” Peggy murmured and gave a gentle tug on the lead. “We’ve much to do.” As heartbroken as they were, it was still a war even if Schmidt’s monstrous plan had been foiled, and they still had jobs to do. “I promise later we’ll go to my quarters and we’ll have a good cry and a cuddle.”

Steve would understand the need to crack on. They were his two best girls, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [On tumblr](https://teatotally.tumblr.com/post/186057749425/new-fic-changing-of-the-guard)


End file.
